Chapter Thirty-Two: Foundations and Fault Lines
Andra had started her sixth week of internship with a new rhythm. Mornings were brisk—up at 5:30 AM, a cup of black tea in hand, steel-toe boots laced with purpose. The once daunting roar of machinery and chatter at the site now felt familiar, even comforting.
She was finally learning how to breathe in this new world.
The foreman had begun to trust her. The masons called her "mrembo wa site" playfully, though she always kept it professional. She could now explain the difference between slump tests and compression tests without blinking, and she'd gained the habit of checking reinforcement steel for rust before concrete pours. She was slowly becoming part of the crew, not just the msichana wa attachment.
But on a humid Thursday afternoon, the weather wasn't the only thing thick with tension.
---
It started with a delivery error.
A lorry from a supplier arrived with a batch of ready-mix concrete, but the driver had mistaken the schedule. The pour wasn't due until the next day. Andra, assigned to keep track of materials, tried to call her supervisor, who wasn't answering. The site engineer was off duty that afternoon.
One of the older masons, Otieno, approached her. "We can pour and cover it. Better than sending it back. They'll charge for that."
Andra hesitated. It wasn't protocol. The mix needed to be tested. Site engineers had to supervise pours. Her gut twisted.
"We'll get in trouble," she said.
"Only if someone reports," he shrugged.
Andra stood her ground. "We're not pouring it."
Voices rose. Some of the workers grumbled about the waste. Others sided with her. Eventually, the driver—annoyed but unable to overrule her—drove the lorry back.
When Matata returned the next day and found out, he nodded silently.
"You saved this firm a lot of trouble," he said. "And you may have pissed off a few people. That's part of being in charge."
Andra's hands shook long after he left, but inside, she felt something click: she had chosen integrity, and it mattered.
---
By the weekend, though, life outside the site began to crack at the edges.
Her mother called from Kitale. The new school shoes she'd promised for Kingsley had still not arrived. Her younger sister needed money for exam registration. The power at home had been cut off.
"I'll figure it out, Mom," Andra said, forcing calm into her voice.
But the pressure was suffocating. Her stipend from the firm was barely enough for food and transport. She skipped two meals that week. She sold her favorite handbag in town for a quarter of its value.
She texted Parker.
Andra: "Kingsley's shoes are torn. He says his feet hurt."
Parker: "Aki pole(sorry). I'll send something by Monday, I promise."
Monday came. Nothing.
Tuesday. Silence.
Wednesday. He posted a photo with friends at a lounge, a whiskey bottle in front of him. Her blood simmered.
---
That evening, Andra took a walk through the unfinished estate the firm was building—an area marked for luxury flats. She walked between pillars and empty frames, concrete skeletons reaching for the sky.
She imagined her future here. Her name on buildings. Her son running into her arms after her shift. Her parents sitting on a porch she'd helped build.
She exhaled deeply, placing her hand on the cool concrete.
"I'm going to make it," she whispered. "No matter what."
---
The following week, she faced her most challenging task yet: being in charge of supervising a full site inspection with the city engineers. Matata assigned her to take the team around, explain the progress, and answer questions.
She spent two nights preparing. Cross-checked blueprints. Reviewed every load bearing point and safety code. When the day came, she was exhausted—but ready.
"Explain the beam dimensions and why you chose 16mm bars here," one of the engineers asked.
Andra answered confidently.
"And what's your slump range target for your ready-mix?" another asked.
"Between 75 and 100 millimeters, depending on temperature and section thickness."
When it ended, the lead inspector turned to Matata. "You've trained her well."
Matata just smiled. "She's training herself."
---
That evening, back in her room, Andra sat on her thin mattress, the light bulb flickering above her. Her phone buzzed with a message from Parker.
Parker: "I sent 2K. Hope it helps. I'll try add more next week."
She didn't reply.
She sent the money to her mom, then opened a new document on her laptop: Internship Final Report.
Andra typed:
> "This internship taught me how to lay foundations. Not just for buildings, but for the life I want. I learned to measure strength not just in steel bars, but in showing up—every day—even when nothing comes easy. Especially then."